Acid Bath of Life

I can’t make this sh*t up. If life is a simulation, my programmer is a trickster with a sadistic leaning. And I—the avatar—a hapless masochistic woman who turned 39 a week ago today.

The past 17 months have been a journey in sobriety. Successful, but strange the things and people that fall by the wayside when you’re struggling to survive. Without social media, friendships have become bi-monthly dinners that entail requests for dog-sitting. So I’ve avoided them. I spent the weeks up to my birthday alone, quietly.

My grandmother’s funeral was 10 days before my birthday. My grandmother, who raised me and molested me. I missed the funeral two states away because I was not allowed to take off work. I’m an independent contractor, a woodworker. I quit my job five days after missing the funeral. Out of frustration, out of necessity. The workshop did not have AC or heat, and the pneumonics were on their very last airy leg.

I’m a bit superstitious (or very ‘stitious) and in my undergrad years, I wrote often about dying by age 38. Deep down, I was worried I wouldn’t make it to the odd number of 39. But I made it, sober and unemployed, feeling friendless.

That morning, my mother texted me a generic “Happy Birthday” text, but has been distant since my grandmother’s death. Part of me thinks it’s because my mother is relieved I didn’t expose my molestation while she was alive. Or she’s upset I missed the funeral. Or she does not want me asking about the inheritance.

The next birthday message came from my ex-wife of ten years. She left me with nothing besides my guitar after the divorce. The house, cars, savings, furniture, cats, she kept and moved in her current partner a month after I left. She texted “Happy Birthday,” celebration emoji. This, coming from someone who has no empathy chip. Still, I thanked her.

But felt sad. So, with no plans on my birthday, I decided to do the unimaginable. Drop a tab of acid I’d been saving for something sacred someday. I cleaned my house to prepare for the oncoming hallucinations. I made a plan to walk to the smoke shop to buy a new kiwi ice nicotine vape as my birthday present to myself.

I dropped the acid before my walk. Then I began the two mile round trip. The sidewalk was still damp from the morning rain, the bricks slick with wet leaves. I felt shiver-y, a sign the magic was about to kick in. Less than half a mile from my house, my ear buds died.

“Unbelievable,” I thought. My whole walk was going to have a different vibe. On my birthday, of course. Nearly to the smoke shop, I hear a woman say,

“Happy Birthday,” I look to the street, and see a new black Bronco with a face hanging out. “Happy Birthday,” she says again.

“Oh my god,” I say. Then I stare. It’s my ex-girlfriend, who I dated after my divorce but haven’t seen in 3 years. After a toxic year of dating, she cheated on me with her ex for the last time and I went no contact. “Oh my god,” I say again, but slower. I caught myself about to say it a third time. “Okay, thank you.” I said and folded my hands with a little bow.

She rolled up the window and drove away. Turned right through the light at the corner illegally, as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I laughed, “Narcissist,” I thought “Not going to ruin my day.”

My walk home and the acid trip was beautiful. I felt wonderfully unattached. Another year in anonymity, as that was my last birthday wish for the day. Maybe winning is for losers? Could losing everything feel free? I’ll keep you posted.